


house of memories

by Violet_showstopper



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Histoical, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18365882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_showstopper/pseuds/Violet_showstopper
Summary: Arthur relives some memories- the good, the bad, the hard.





	house of memories

_ Captain Kirkland stood on the forecastle deck of his ship, the salty wind whipping through his coat. A laugh left him and got swept up in the wind, drowned out by the roaring of the Indian Ocean. Tales of boats carrying fortune greater than any pirates wildest dreams were told to pass through here, and there was no way Captain Kirkland would let them slip from between his fingers. _

_ He hopped down from the bow, crossing the boat with an air of superiority. His eyes swept over his crewmen working hard on keeping the boat in good shape. Good- Kirkland was known for running a tight ship.  _

_ “Captain!” A voice pulled him from his walk, and he turned to face the voice with a raised eyebrow. This had better be good.  _

_ “A boat has been spotted around two nautical miles away, heading straight for us.” _

_ Kirkland couldn’t help but smirk a little bit at the news.  _

_ “And how fast is she going?” _

_ “Around 5 knots, Captain.”  _

_ “Good. Raise the sails, we’ll make sure she isn’t getting away.”  _

_ The crewman nodded and began shouting orders. Kirkland approached the edge of the ship, folding his hands behind his back. It wasn’t long before his ship slid up broadside with another. Kirklands grin spread as he spotted the man on the other ship. _

_ “Antonio!” Kirkland yelled across to the man frowning unpleasantly at him.  “Funny seeing you here,” Kirkland continued, crossing over to the other’s boat as a Gangaway dropped down, connecting the two boats- never breaking eye contact with his foe.  _

_ “Me? If I’m not wrong,  _ you’re  _ the one trespassing on-” Antonio didn’t get to finish his sentence, Kirkland interrupting with a cold laugh.  _

_ “I’m under instruction from my King to raid this sea as much as I want. When will you learn? This-” Kirkland made a wide gesture with his hand, indicating the ocean itself. “-belongs to me. Surrender now, Antonio, and I’ll have mercy on you.” _

_ Antonio snarled, raising his sword. “I’d rather die.” _

_ “Then die you must.” _

Arthur Kirkland wakes up from the dream with a harsh gasp of air, shooting up out of bed panting. His bed is cold and damp from sweat, and he shudders, pushing himself to the edge of it. It had been a while since he’d re-lived any of those memories, and in such a vivid dream...He groans and pulls himself up to stand.

It is still dark as he busies himself making a cup of tea. Once it is done, he settles into his old couch, and closes his eyes to listen to the quiet pitter-patter of raindrops. The man gives a sigh. It was times like this he really felt his age settling into him, a deep tiredness washing over his mind. Days of old flash in the darkness behind his closed eyes, and they were harder to shake with the dream that he’d had.

He takes a sip of his tea, relishing the warmth on his tongue. 

When you are as old as Arthur, as old as a nation, the days tend to swirl and squish together in a tangle of overlapping memories. Yet still, he still somehow manages to feel a kind of nostalgia for his former days. His days of glory. He sighs again, opening his eyes to stare out the window at the dark London street below him. A long moment passes by before he moves again, picking himself up off the seat.

Gently, he sets the mug of tea down on the coffee table and crosses the living room. His footsteps echo as he went up the stairs. Arthur was used to the quiet, but sometimes, like times like this, it was deafening.

The door to his office let out an awful creak, and he makes his way over to the towering bookcase leaning against the wall. He cranes his head back a little bit, searching for the old leather journals that he’d kept for so long. Finally, he sees them, and tilts onto his tiptoes to pull a few out. They make a heavy thump on the desk as he sets them down, and a shudder runs down his spine as the smell of dust and nostalgia washed over him. It had been a while

He takes a few breaths to quell the memories rushing over him at simply the smell.

The journal he grabs is labeled 1770-1783, and though he knows the memories this will bring up, he still cracks it open. 

_ Alfred stood in front of him. So small, so young, but with a determination on his face that Arthur hadn’t ever seen on this lad before. Britain was sitting in his office chair, almost boredly reading over the document that had been set on his table by Alfred.  _

_ “So, from now- from now on, we are independent States. I will no longer be taking orders from you, o-or anybody else that tries to rule us- including the King,” Alfred stuttered, hands clenched into nervous balls at his sides. It was almost cute. Almost.  _

_ “Sure you are, Alfred. And what gives you the authority to make that decision?” Britain scoffed. _

_ “Me. That’s the point of this, Britain. I can make the decisions now.” _

_ “You can’t just decide to do these things, Alfred. You’re simply a colony, leave this stuff to the Big Countries, okay?”  _

_ “Britain-”  _

_ “Besides, you wouldn’t even know how to run yourself as a country. All you know is how to sit down and take orders, and frankly, you can’t even do that right.” Britain shook his head, looking up at his charge again, who’s fists had begun to shake slightly.  _

_ “Listen to me!” Alfred raised his voice, stomping his foot childishly. That basically proved Britain’s point, but he wouldn’t say anything just yet. When Alfred had seemed to calm more, the colony began to speak again.  _

_ “We are fed up with your treatment of us. We have suffered, and people are dying. We can run all of this better by ourselves- by myself. A-and if you won’t give me my freedom, I’ll...I’ll take it.” _

_ The silence that settled into the room was beyond tense.  _

_ “First Concord, then this? This is a simple temper-tantrum, Colony,” Britain spoke evenly. He stood, picked up the so-called “Declaration of Independence” and crossed the room. He could hear Alfred protesting behind him, but that didn’t stop him.  “You will forget about this in a year.” The paper sizzled and curled when it landed in the fireplace, and Arthur turned again, wiping his hands together like he was brushing off some invisible dirt.  _

_ “There. Now that that whole thing is out of the way, go home and think about what you’ve done.” _

_ “No.” Alfred’s lips pressed together. “Your King already has a copy of it. There’s no way to stop this, Britain.” _

_ “You know that you’re going to regret this, right? You are ignorant to the truth of life, or war.” _

_ “I don’t care.”  _

_ “You’re going to be destroyed.”  _

_ “Will not.” _

_ Britain huffed, feeling Alfred getting more and more irritated by the moment. “Your brother has never had any complaints, why can’t you be more like him, hm?”  _

_ “I’m not my brother!” Alfred finally yelled. “And I never  _ will  _ be! Because at least you  _ respect  _ Matthew!”  _

_ “Because Matthew deserves the respect!” Britain had raised his voice to a match Alfred’s.  _

_ “And I don't?!” He ignored the hurt and anger in Alfred’s voice.  _

_ “Not when you act like a  _ brat! _ ” _

_ Before Britain knew it, he was grabbing Alfred’s arm and grabbing him kicking and screaming out of his office, and out of his home. Alfred made a rough sound when he hit the ground outside. _

_ “Come back when you’ve learned how to behave.” The door slammed heavy and hard behind him. _

The journal makes a similar noise when Arthur slams it shut, taking a few deep breaths through his nose. He leans back in his chair, and the journal makes a scraping noise as he pushes it away from him. Arthur almost didn’t want to open another one, overwhelmed by how clear the days of old came back to him. But there was almost a comfort in it. He skipped a few journals, reaching one that brought both fond and rough memories. 1904-1918. He opens up to the first page. 

_A cigarette hangs loosely in England’s mouth, and he leaned forward in his chair. France was on the other side of the table, shooting him looks every few moments. He sighed, a puff of smoke leaving his lips. Just because their leaders thought that the Entente Cordiale was a good idea, didn’t mean that he had to. Him and France had their ups and downs, and this alliance wasn’t going to change his mind. Yet still, he had to sign it as the paper moved around the table._ _As soon as the meeting ended, England stood and headed outside. There was no way he was going to stay in that meeting room for longer than he needed to. The fresh air was welcoming, and he tossed his cigarette down onto the pavement._

_ The quiet was short-lived as France joined him with a sniff.  _

_ “Oh, how I wish you wouldn't smoke those dreadful things,” the man cooed from behind England, and England rolled his eyes.  _

_ “How I wish you would leave me alone,” he shot back, turning his head away from France as the man stood next to him.  _

_ France sighed and moved away, instead sitting down on one of the benches that were nearby. _

_ “I’m not happy about this alliance either,” France said, and England turned to watch him cross one leg over the other. France’s English was rough and thick with an accent. Somehow, France had gone very long without learning English. He had no desire to- and England suspected it was mainly to piss him off. _

_ England scoffed, and waited for a while before joining France on the bench, crossing his arms across his chest.  _

_ “You’re just upset because you know that you have to spend more time around me,” England replied. _

_ “Is that not the same reason that you’re upset?” _

_ England didn’t respond, frowning down at the ground like a little kid.  _

_ “Always so stubborn, England,” France said with a little laugh to his voice, patting England’s knee gently. _

_ “Don’t touch me.”  _

_ “So rude.” France moved his hand, and England could feel the other countries eyes on him as he pulled out another cigarette.  _

_ “Those are going to kill you.”  _

_ “Perhaps. Not that you would be heartbroken by that.”  _

_ “Assuming the worst of me again, I see.”  _

_ “It’s the truth.”  _

_ France didn’t respond, and with it, came an uncomfortable silence between the two of them. England smoking his third cigarette in an hour, and France not moving despite having complained about the stench of the cigarettes. _

_ “When do you go home?” England asked in a puff of smoke.  _

_ “Tomorrow.”  _

_ England sighed and stood, turning to give a long look at France. The arrogant man that got on his last everlasting nerve, the man that drove him up the wall and whom he argued with almost non-stop.  _

_ “Come home with me.” England said simply, but it meant so much more.  _

_ France cracked a small, but noticeable smile. “I thought you’d never ask.” _

 

Arthur laughs through his teeth, remembering that day and that night with a sense of both pride and foolishness. He was so young back then, so brash. So angry at the world. He was always so rude to Francis. Crying over things he did doesn’t change these memories. He ignores the tears welling up in his eyes and rubs them away. He doesn’t see what year the next one is marked before he opens it.

 

_ “Hey, UK!” Arthur heard distantly, blinking what he assumed is blood from his eye. He was laying on the ground, in a puddle of mud. Lifting his head is difficult, but when he did, he can see a shape moving closer to him. As he watched the shape get bigger, he could make out that it was Prussia. Waving his hand over his head as he ran towards him.  _

_ “Hm,” is all Arthur can make out. He was very tired, and was completely fine with laying here for the next...Whenever he wanted to. Besides, all this fighting was stupid anyways. Nothing in comparison to-  _

_ “Hey, Brit. Get up, we won.” Arthur rolled over and blinked up. Prussia loomed over him, hands on his hips and grinning triumphantly. He is splattered in blood and mud and surely other things, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Ah! Du bist lebendig!”  _

_ “Go away,” Arthur mutters, turning his gaze away from Prussia. It’s too much for him to see. Sure, he’d seen worse battles than this but this time he just wants to sink into the grass and not move. Maybe he’d die just like all the other soldiers. Maybe that’s what he wanted. _

_ “Nien. Lets get you back to ah… The...das Lager.” Arthur groans as Prussia scoops him off the ground and leans him over his shoulder. “We won. Aren’t you happy? Napoleon cried like a Mädchen!” Prussia’s laughter pierces his skull. _

_ “Shut up.” Arthur grumbled, giving a smack to Prussia’s back. “I want to die.” _

_ Prussia just laughed again- which made Arthur’s temper flare up. _

_ “Stop laughing! Ich...Ich..” Arthur stumbled over his German, and it makes him more frustrated. “I want to die! Ersterben! Ich ersterben!”  _

_ Before he knew it, he was crying. Beating Prussia’s back and crying. It just wasn’t  _ fair  _ how he got to live while everyone died. All these people dying and he’d get up every single time. Those people had families, wives, maybe even children. A sob tore out of his throat. “It isn’t fair! Prussia, it isn’t fair! I want to die like them, I want- I want something to die for! Prussia, Prussia, please, please let me die- I can't do this they're so young, I want it- I want to die!" _

_ Prussia had gone silent. Stepping over bodies and blood. Arthur cried all the way back to the camp, whimpering out and begging, until Prussia settled him in a chair and held his hands in his own.  _

_ Arthur sniffed, pulling one hand away to wipe at his tears. He hated crying like this. He hated that Prussia was seeing him like this.  _

_ “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”  _

_Prussia hugged him. Compressing him to his chest and holding on for dear life._ _  
_ _“I’m sorry,” Prussia muttered back. “You shouldn’t be sad.”_

_ “I am.”  _

_ “I’m sorry.”  _

_ “Prussia…”  _

_ “Gilbert now." _

_ Arthur sniffed, scrunching his hands in the back of Gilbert's jacket.  _

_ “I’m sorry, Gilbert.”  _

_ “I’m sorry too.”  _

 

Arthur shakes his head. He could remember that night so clearly. Waterloo was hard for all three of them- worse for Belgium. It was the first time his immortality really smacked him in the face. He had been okay dealing with it up until that point but something about that battle...He sighs and shuffles his foot. One more entry.

 

_ The alarms were blazing in Arthur’s ears as he ushered people into the subway bunkers, flinching every so often when a far-away bomb shook the ground underneath his feet. The woman cried and clung to his shirt as he began to step away, begging him to stay between shaky breaths.  _

_ Arthur smiled at her, promised it was okay, and nearly pushed her down into the bunker before rushing away through the streets, trying to locate any stragglers in need of refuge. That was when a bomb fell, blasting through the nearest building and sending Arthur flying through the air, wind knocked out of his lungs in a blast of searing heat. There was a sickening crack as his body collided with another building, and he let out a silent yelp as pain shot through his body. _

_ His body landed on the ground limply, like a ragdoll dropped by a child having a tantrum. In the back of his mind, he recognized he was dying. It wasn’t the first time. The world faded to darkness in front of his eyes, and the sirens still blasted, yet slowly drifted off like he was getting further from them. Just for a moment, everything was quiet, dark, and warm.  _

_ No alarms, no fear. _

_ He was dead.  _

_ And then, all at once, he wasn’t.  _

_ He groaned as he woke back up, senses returning quickly. The alarms were still blaring. He couldn't have been out for more than a few moments. _

_ It hurt when he stood, legs unsteady and shaking from supporting his weight. His lungs screamed in protest as he took a breath of the hot air- pain shot through his ribs. Arthur could feel them still shifting back together together under his skin.  _

_ One foot after the other, he began walking, stumbling along the deserted, destroyed London street. Hot tears stung his cheeks but he kept going- even as his arm stayed limp at his side, not repairing itself, and his gaze stayed uncomfortably blurry.  _

_ Still, he needed to keep his citizens safe.  _

 

Arthur snaps out of the memory to his phone ringing across the room. He stared at it for a few moments before standing and crossing the room. The phone brightness lights his face a slight blue as he checked the ID. Alfred.

He hesitates before answering. 

“Hello?” 

_ “Hey, Artie! Mattie and I flew in early for the meeting next week- d’ya wanna come out for lunch with us?”  _

Arthur blinks. “Really?” 

_ “Of course, dude. I think Francis is here too- hey! Francis!”  _ There’s some rustling on the other side for a moment. Before Alfred returns.  _ “Yeah, Francis is here! Come get lunch with us, please?”  _

He can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, okay. Same place as usual?” 

_ “Yeah. And bring an umbrella or somethin’ we forgot ours.”  _

“Alright.” 

“ _ M’kay, we’ll see you-”  _

“Wait! 

_ “Huh?”  _

“I love you.” 

That gets a stupid, playful laugh out of Alfred. “ _ That’s weird, old man. Getting sentimental again?”  _

“Fuck off!” 

_ “Yeah, we’ll see you here soon!”  _

The line clicks. 

Arthur is smiling again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this thing since January. it is now April and i'm still not that satisfied with it. anyways I hope u enjoyed, please comment if you did!


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